Remember That Guy?
We all know that guy
You know? That guy.
That guy who walks through streets
Screaming obscenities
While those who surround him
Are electrons in a bomb
Awaiting the perfect opportunity
To ignite and fall out
There is that guy
Who is warning the masses
That this world will melt down
Who the fuck is that guy?
Who could possibly stir up
So much commotion
During the stagnancy
Of a Sunday night?
I know who that guy is.
I know exactly who he is.
It’s me.
I’m that guy.
Or at least I was that guy.
I was the one who was beat down
Into the abyss of psychosis.
I was the one who was strung out
Hoping someone would care enough
To give me space and listen.
I was the one who begged
When nobody else
Tuned into my tears.
I was that guy.
And maybe I still am that guy.
Come to think of it…
Yeah, I still am that guy.
I’m that guy screaming
Through his thumbs.
Typing a poem.
Lacking as much direction
As I did those nights
When I wandered through Williamsburg.
Lost in a subterranean subterfuge
Rattled by the emergency vehicles
Which could have helped me
Or submerged me
Deeper into paranoia.
And this whole city
Makes me question
Whether I still have
The undying potential
To continue being that guy.
But the world has
Endless possibilities.
Even the kind
Where I could be
In a room
Of screaming men
Like I was
Many times before
And still be remembered
As that guy.
Cistern
I need a cistern
To collect the rain
From my cloudy vision
As my face sinks
I need a cistern
To collect my trauma
From all the bruises
Incurred within forty years
I need a cistern
To collect the livelihood
With pain nourishing flowers
Upon a fertile bed
I need a cistern
To collect my thoughts
As my mind races
On a butterfly’s wings
I need a cistern
To collect these memories
Purified for the land
Which is now dry
I need a cistern
To collect myself
So I may venture
Toward prosperity
© Rossella BLUE Mocerino: Venice No. 4468 – 4472
Confiscating My Anarchy
I wear my anarchy like a bulletproof vest
all the while establishing
that my contempt for the establishment
in and of itself
will resist bullets
Though I am a hybrid
of a Star of David and a semicolon
I am also a one-man kingdom
who overthrew the governance
of the underhanded statements
made about my role
in this haphazard organization
of the revolution
I decided long ago
that there is no coattail worth riding
in order to find success
Every artist needs to be used to failure
for it is fuel for further success
No matter what they take from me
they can’t take away my anarchy
for the greatest love of all
lies within a heart
which can’t be tamed
I Kept On Walking
On days where empty minds were talking
Those were the days I kept on walking
Turned my back on institutions
Stopped subscribing to delusions
Terminated my submissions
Stayed content with my decisions
Days of being meek now moot
No conditions to salute
When no more nerves are left to jar
I keep the catalysts afar
On days where empty minds were talking
Those were the days I kept on walking
Turned my back on institutions
Stopped subscribing to delusions
Will not stand to be exploited
Negativity avoided
Not worthy of my attention
Are those with a foul intention
In cases where the toxins mix
Filtering will be the fix
This resolution I declare
Is set so that life can repair
On days where empty minds were talking
Those were the days I kept on walking
Terminated my submissions
Stayed content with my decisions
I will stand by my defense
On my terms, I make amends
Keep the friendships worth the time
Surrendering to the sublime
Sins committed, passion lacking
Keep my conscience from attacking
I keep alliances with ease
But it’s myself I need to please
On days where empty minds were talking
Those were the days I kept on walking
Missile Command
You won’t destroy me
or this infrastructure where
my silos protect
this foundation from the trails
your bombs will bestow
My trigger finger
is a hard one to challenge
and in time I will
repair these ruins upon
this desolate wasteland
With a thousand points
of reference after the years
since I’ve been alive
I detect malice for miles
at the highest altitudes
Keep in mind I am
a specter of forgiveness
who was exorcised
from this Trojan Horse where guile
was your first line of defense
This time I will be
a fortress like Masada
where I will sustain
without submitting to your
attempts to level cities
You are the zealot
who will not force my right hand
to put forth a coup
against your boisterous ways
as you wish God existed
That Solitary Brick
In Jerusalem
It’s been said
When you pray
At the Western Wall
You always remember
That solitary brick
Upon which your
Head rests
Truth in this statement
Is as abundant
As the notes
Between the cracks
Of the wall
That solitary brick
Was a recipient
Of tears
I was not ready to shed
In that moment
I was not prepared
To greet vulnerability
With the same glance
As the one I gave
When I struggled to
Write my intentions
Which read
‘As I stand by this wall
I hope to tear down another.’
Credos of social anxiety
Sent directly to Hashem
Shortcomings I could not express
Eloquently in my speech
Sadness I could not convey
With the sincerity
Of the breath I held
In the hopes of
Receiving something
For which to breathe
Remembering how a belt
I wrapped around my neck
Was consensual
Among my split personalities
Remembering how
I questioned whether
I even wanted to live
To see the rest
Of a country
I had the luxury
Of visiting for free
That solitary brick
Remembers my secrets
It remembers the tears
My third eye shed
When my depression
Could have replenished
The Dead Sea
For centuries
As I write this
The vision of
That solitary brick
Is clobbering me
Between the eyes
That solitary brick
Needs to dismantle
The giant I harbor
To protect the mind
I still have yet to conquer